Crest for Knowledge
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: Sometimes, people didn't understand him. And sometimes they did.
1. 1

**A/N:** Written for the:

Digimon non-flash bingo, #558 – Crest of Knowledge  
Becoming the Tamer King Challenge, Data Forest task  
Diversity Writing Challenge, c4 – poetry collection centered around a specific character

* * *

 **Crest for Knowledge  
** 1.

He may as well speak a different language  
for all they understood, but they listened anyway, listened  
and became the focal point: the net that attracted stray flies  
of thought, of theories – he could have talked  
to an empty room instead but it wasn't the same. An empty room  
couldn't listen, couldn't breathe in silent space, in dead air.  
He explained and they didn't understand it all but still  
they stayed: the trees and their breeze, they sat so underfoot  
to the seeds he tended to could sprout.


	2. 2

**Crest for Knowledge**  
2

Knowledge was one thing. Understanding was quite another.  
In essence, it was the cup of wine he poured but never drank.  
He knew its taste, or so he thought. He drank his fill  
but craved it still. The cup never overflowed, nor spilled  
But what he drank was something else: was water,  
not spicy wine. He didn't get it still.

It came with time: with company, with adventures,  
with dancing circuits in his brain and adrenaline constantly  
rushing off for parts once unknown.


	3. 3

**Crest for Knowledge**  
3.

Not everything could be summarised into a book  
or onto a single floppy disk. There's no one equation  
or script that can fit in every rule of this world. He's odd,  
leaving holes that need to be left so they can stretch – adapt.  
It's like a moth-eaten blanket that can fall apart  
at any time

And maybe it is…his security blanket. Maybe it's the way  
he doesn't fall through holes in the floor himself – but he also knows  
he can't fill all those holes. He can make a floor to stand on, a bridge sometimes,  
some stairs, but he can't fill in all the holes about the world  
because the world can't fit inside his head.


	4. 4

**Crest for Knowledge**  
4.

Orange wasn't a very flattering colour.  
It was garish.  
It was bold.  
It mixed the scorching light of the sun  
and the heat of a furnace  
and, really, it didn't suit him at all.

He wore it anyway.  
Maybe it was because he wanted to burn as bright,  
burn like courage.

But he had a different role  
and his colours were the colours of something else,  
of calm and peace,  
of friendship,  
of royalty…

He was no royal.  
Once upon a time, he wasn't much of a friend  
either, but he worked hard at it,  
and it helped to have great friends in return  
because friendship's a two way road.

As for the calm and peace…  
Yes he was calm,  
yes, he was a pacifist  
and in there, purple suited him perfectly  
but when did purple mean knowledge?


	5. 5

**Crest for Knowledge**  
5.

It was like a gigantic puzzle for him to crack.  
Still, he'd have liked to have a choice.  
A book perhaps, or a disk with it all pre-loaded  
instead of tossed into this strange new world  
like a survival show, with a party he wasn't sure  
would be of any help.

Still, he kept at it. Kept apart at times,  
but kept at it. Kept at it until he  
understood their worth,  
became their friends.

Kept at it until he could solve  
the puzzle of the world.


	6. 6

**Crest for Knowledge**  
6.

He didn't like things he couldn't understand.  
Not at first. It poked at him  
like an itch that wouldn't go away  
no matter how he scratched.

He scratched at it anyway.  
Scratched until he bled.  
Scratched until tender hands  
had to cover them with a patch.

Underneath was an answer: a small answer  
amidst a sea of red.  
It was a lottery ticket, that his lucky coin  
had to hunt through every day  
for the payout – and most people never did  
reach that payout, or it was pure luck if they did.

But these were different odds, and he chiselled  
away at them, until understanding was no longer  
just chance, but a certainty  
he could grasp with only his entire hands.


	7. 7

**Crest for Knowledge**  
7.

The Digital World is a puzzle  
that slowly comes together.

He'll never have all the pieces.  
Right now, he's okay with that  
as long as he has pieces enough.

Enough to make it through this game  
without falling into a death trap  
along the way.

And enough to make it through  
with all the friends they've made.

Once upon a time, it wouldn't have been enough  
to simply have: he'd need more.  
But now he knows it's not just knowing  
or using that knowledge, but wisdom  
is not knowing as well.


	8. 8

**Crest for Knowledge**  
8.

Like everyone, there are things only he can do,  
puzzles only he can solve  
and sometimes, those puzzles are tailor-made  
for him: gloves that hug his fingertips  
and palms.

And sometimes they're not, but he has to try  
because it mightn't be someone else's puzzle  
but one of his in disguise.

How is he to know? He must try them all  
to not miss when he can help  
and it can't do any harm

But knowledge can be a double-edged sword  
at times.


	9. 9

**Crest for Knowledge**  
9.

The thirst for knowledge is such an integral part of him  
he can't imagine being without.  
But it's drought season now and he's lost in the desert  
and there isn't even an oasis in sight  
for him to chase.

There is only sand all round, and his soul leaks out:  
soul dew he could have drunk from if only he could  
muster up the energy…

Thank goodness he has his own knight in shining armour  
to come to his aid: a knight that's a shield, but also  
a companion and friend, and the last bit of his soul  
before it splashes, useless like the rest,  
into the sand.


	10. 10

**Crest for Knowledge**  
10.

It's his song: the trademark badge  
he wears on his lapels, and he must.  
They all have their badges of honour,  
their crests of virtue, except there are  
no crests anymore. Still, the virtues  
are carved into their hearts: the badges  
on their chest. That inside will never change  
even if there's no outside crest to wear  
anymore.

He can finger the skin from time to time  
and feel no bump, no cut, no stitches,  
but it's there nonetheless.  
Maybe it's a mirage, or a hallucination,  
but it's there, always there

And who really cares if the soul is blue  
or white, orange or purple?  
Even if they can't be sure they're seeing it,  
they know it's there.


End file.
